The Girl in the Smoke
by Mosteyn
Summary: Secret Santa for Magfreak ! The prompt was "Tom and Sybil meet at a London train station, both bound for Downton. Tom is going to start his job, and Sybil has snuck away for the day to go to a suffrage event. They talk the whole way back, and realize when they get to Downton that they are going to the same place, and she's the daughter of his new employer." Part II up !
1. Chapter 1

_This story is the first part of my (late) contribution to the SybilxTom secret santa for Magfreak. The prompt is "Tom and Sybil meet at a London train station, both bound for Downton. Tom is going to start his job, and Sybil has snuck away for the day to go to a suffrage event. They talk the whole way back, and realize when they get to Downton that they are going to the same place, and she's the daughter of his new employer."_

 _I've kind of had to tinker with canon a bit, as Sybil is obviously a bit more passionate about suffrage before she meets Tom, but I think its only a minor detail :)_

 _Apologies for any mistakes - I'm way behind with it, so I just wanted to get it up ! Not sure what if this is at all what you had in mind, but here it is ! There will be a second (shortish) chapter..._

* * *

 _1913_

She appeared out of the steam, holding onto her hat and running as if the hounds of hell were after her. He could feel a surge of energy beneath his feet as the train started to move, slowly, creakily at first, like an arthritic old man groaning as he hauled himself out of his chair. The girl dodged round the station master and then round a porter, running as fast as her skirts would let her. There was something in her face that pulled Tom out of his reverie and made him jump up to open the door of the carriage, much to the disgust of the elderly couple sharing the seat with him. The door swung perilously. The girl was just inches away as he grasped the side of the carriage and reached out to her. The train lurched forward as their hands met and she all but threw herself at the step. He pulled her in beside him, feeling the bones in her hand small and supple under her skin.

It was a feeling he would remember for the rest of his life.

* * *

The girl was out of breath, but still managed to gasp a thank you. Even her shortness of breath couldn't hide the low, sweet quality of her voice and her perfect vowels. She looked about the same age as his younger sister; her fair complexion glowing with the exertion of her run and her thick dark curls hanging down her back. She was practically, but elegantly dressed. Too smart and well spoken for a servant. Perhaps she's a shopgirl, he thought, in that he thought anything at all beyond noticing the blue of her eyes. He smiled at her.

"Are you all right, Miss ?"

Sybil felt her ribs straining at her corset as she tried to breathe. The stocky young man who had helped her into the carriage was looking at her with some concern. He'd called her "Miss" in a rather gravelly Irish accent. She took in the simple cloth carriage seats, the netting overhead holding his luggage. She was at the back of the train – this must be a third class carriage. She had only travelled in the privacy of first class before, sharing her space with her family or other well-heeled passengers. It was all rather exciting.

"Yes, thank you. Perfectly fine."

The train jolted over a set of points, causing Sybil and her companion to stumble away from each other. His hand shot out and grabbed hold of her arm to steady her. There was a slight awkwardness when the train smoothed out on its tracks and he let go, giving her a small smile.

"Perhaps you'd better sit down."

She gave the carriage another cursory glance before sitting opposite him with an unconscious, easy grace. Her presence seemed to make it seem at once more elegant and rather threadbare and humdrum. She smiled back at him, eyes sparkling.

"Thank you ever so much," she said. "There really would have been the most frightful row if I had missed the train.

She smoothed down her skirt and then loosened the finger of each glove before pulling them off and folding them in her lap.

"I'm glad I could help."

Tom couldn't help thinking that she looked more out of place with every movement she made. The girl, however, didn't seem to notice and leant towards him.

"No really – I would have been in so much trouble. Papa would have been furious !"

He didn't know anyone who called their father "Papa". The train heaved itself over another set of points and jolted her away, back into her seat.

"He doesn't like you being late ?" he asked gravely.

The girl blushed and looked a little shamefaced.

"It's not so much the lateness. It's more that he would have realised that I had lied to him about where I was going. I told him I was going to spend the day with a friend, but instead I got the train down here to London."

Tom couldn't help raising an eyebrow. There was more to this girl than met the eye.

"You gave your family the slip ?"

"I know it was terribly wrong of me to lie to him. But I really wanted to hear Mrs Pankhurst speak, now she's out of prison. Papa would never have let me go…...he thinks Mrs Pankhurst is…well, I can't repeat what he thinks about Mrs Pankhurst," she said bitterly. A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows at the thought. .

"You've been to listen to Mrs Pankhurst ?"

His voice obviously betrayed his surprise. The wrinkle deepened as he realised she was looking at him with disapproval.

"Yes. Although I suppose you don't approve of her," she said, with a defensive tilt of her chin.

It earned her a cocky, amused smile.

"Now why would you think that ?"

The wrinkle deepened to a frown.

"Well…most men don't."

He sat back, squaring his shoulders again the seat behind him.

"I'm not most men."

Her eyes widened.

"You think women should have the vote ?"

"I think women are quite capable of making their own minds up about things – so certainly, why shouldn't they vote ?"

"Exactly ! Why do people find that so difficult to understand !"

Her enthusiasm made her lean in towards him again. For half a heartbeat her eyes held his, open and eager. Then she became self conscious and looked down at her gloves. Tom felt the loss of that connection immediately, like a shadow falling when the sun went in.

On impulse he stuck out his hand.

"Tom Branson," he said. The girl looked at his hand for a second, then looked up.

"Sybil Crawley," she said, putting her hand in his. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Branson."

* * *

Conversation flowed easily after that. He asked her what Mrs Pankhurst had said, and they discussed whether the Cat and Mouse Act would deter the suffragettes from trying to embarrass the government with their hunger strikes. They were in agreement that it wouldn't. He found his new companion surprisingly well informed for one so young – and found himself equally surprised by her ignorance. She was passionate about women's suffrage, but knew little of the wider political landscape, of socialism or, he began to suspect, the reality of the lives of ordinary working women. It made him curious about her background.

They were well past Leicester when they were interrupted by the conductor wanting to check their tickets. He clipped Tom's without comment, but hesitated over Sybil's.

"This ticket is for first –"

"It's fine," she said, glancing up uncomfortably at him and then at Tom, who was looking at his shoes. "Everything's fine."

The conductor didn't seem to think so.

"We stop at Nottingham in twenty minutes, Miss, so you can change carriages there."

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly comfortable here."

The conductor opened his mouth to say something else, but evidently thought better of it.

"If you say so, Miss," he said blandly, and then let himself back into the corridor, sliding the door shut behind him. An uncomfortable silence descended. Neither of them wanted to mention what had just happened and the easy camaraderie of the earlier part of the journey seemed to have disappeared.

"Don't you think you'd be more – "

"Are you going to –"

They both began speaking at once. Tom nodded awkwardly, allowing her to go first.

"Are you visiting someone ?" she said, nodding to the suitcase in the netting over his head.

"Oh, no," he smiled, immensely relieved that she had changed the subject. "No. I'm going to start a new job."

"What do you do ?"

It wasn't just a polite question. She seemed genuinely interested and because of that, he found that the last thing he wanted to tell her was that he was a servant.

"I work on cars," he hedged.

"Oh how exciting ! To be doing something so….so practical," she sighed. "And so ….. new !" She could tell him about Taylor, she thought, but she found she didn't want him to know that she came from a family with a chauffeur. She stared out of the window. "I'd like to work one day. To do something truly useful," To have a purpose other than running a large house and breeding the next generation of the aristocracy, she thought to herself. But that was something else she didn't tell him.

"I'm sure you will."

She looked up and he was smiling at her, a gentle, encouraging smile which made her feel curiously uplifted.

"Won't you miss Ireland ? And your family ?" she asked, changing the subject again.

"I will," he nodded, "but I'm more good to them here. It's a better job." And just like that he found himself telling her all about his family back home in a way he never usually spoke to strangers. It was if this girl had just opened him up like a suitcase.

"Still, it's a shame," she said, "that you have to leave your home and come here to work."

He shrugged.

"Many have done it before me. My father's family, most of them emigrated to America decades ago with nothing. You have to go where the work is if you want to get on."

Sybil thought of her Grandmama, ensconced in her house in New York and the fortune made by her great-grandfather. Persumably he had started out with nothing. She suddenly felt ashamed for not knowing.

"I'm sure you will. Get on, I mean," she said.

"Oh, I mean to. But I won't work with cars forever."

"What will you do ?"

"Politics." He was leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. She had shifted forward in her seat too. "To make life better for people, people who don't get a chance in life. To narrow the gap between those who have everything and those who have nothing." His eyes were shining, intense and bright. She thought of her own family and the grand houses they owned, and a lifestyle that meant her every need was catered for. It now felt very small and very naïve. What did she. Sybil Crawley, know about life ? It was all very well running away down to London for the day and worrying about the vote. But she could afford to worry about the vote precisely because she didn't have to worry about anything else. She'd travelled across the ocean to America, but this intense young man sat in front of her made the world seem a much bigger place that she'd ever dreamed of. He made her feel alive.

"That's a fine ambition," she whispered.

She thought she could feel the tension between them, or maybe it was just the resistance of the wheels on the rails as the train began to slow down before the next station.

Tom felt it too. But the moment was lost in the rhythmic thud of carriage doors being flung open as passengers disgorged onto the platform.

"York ! This is York. All change here !"

* * *

 _A/N : the next chapter will be quite short and I promise to get it up soon !_


	2. Chapter 2

_and here is part II, just to round things off !_

* * *

Tom gave her a small, regretful smile before jumping up to open the door of the carriage for her. He stepped out onto the platform to help her down, which she found charming. She waited for him whilst he went back for his luggage. When he disembarked again, they stood looking at each other awkwardly, neither wanting to be the first to leave.

Sybil was the first to break the silence.

"Well – I suppose I'd better find my train. I do hope your new job goes well."

Tom put his suitcase down.

"Thank you, Miss Crawley. I'm sure it will. It – it was a pleasure to meet you."

She gave him a warm smile.

"You too….."

Another silence, full of wistful regret. Neither of them moved.

"Where are you heading ?" she said, suddenly. "Do you know what platform your connection leaves from ?"

"Downton. I - "

Her eyes flew wide.

"But that's where I live !"

An unexpected bubble of happiness burst inside him and he grinned back at her.

"The trains go from platform 9," she said, turning away. "We've got about 10 minutes. Come on – I'll show you the way."

The station was busy with people travelling home after a day's work. He followed her as she weaved between passengers bent of getting back in time for dinner.

"Do you live in the village ?" he asked.

"Not quite," she replied over her shoulder. "But not far from it. And I go quite frequently. What about you ? Where will you be working ?"

Their train was already standing at the platform, shrouded in soot and steam. They'd unconsciously stopped by the third class carriages. There was nothing for it. He would have to tell her the truth – but telling her would inevitably acknowledge the distance between them – a distance he passionately believed should not exist, being simply a fabrication of the society they lived in. Tom had never been ashamed of being a servant, and the rational part of him told him he wasn't about to start now. He lifted his chin and spoke out firmly.

"I'm to be chauffeur to Lord Grantham."

He thought this news would make her uncomfortable, or disappointed – but instead her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh !"

"Lady Sybil ! I didn't realise you had come to York ? We thought you had gone to visit your friend in Knayton"

Sybil looked up to see Mrs Hughes in a smart hat and coat with her hand on a carriage door. She bustled over to join them.

" _Lady_ Sybil ?"

She hung her head.

"Lord Grantham's my father," she said swiftly, looking up at him beneath the brim of her hat. "Please don't be angry with me for not telling you," she pleaded. "It didn't really seem important before – oh, hello, Mrs Hughes. Imogen wasn't feeling well, so I decided to do some shopping instead. I've just run into Mr Branson. He is going to be our new chauffeur. This is Mrs Hughes, our housekeeper."

Mrs Hughes had already noticed the lack of packages in her young mistress's arms and the easy way she had been talking to the young man standing next to her.

For himself, Tom couldn't help but be impressed with the ease with which she lied to the housekeeper, without so much as missing a heartbeat. The housekeeper didn't look convinced. She was evidently the kind of woman who could spot a cooked up story at a hundred paces. Tom would have to remember that.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Branson. Mr Carson told me you were arriving today." The train belched behind them, sending a flurry of soot up into the air. "Perhaps we'd better let Lady Sybil find her seat ?"

Sybil hesitated a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

"I suppose I'd better," she said with evident reluctance. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Branson."

Tom nodded respectfully, but Mrs Hughes noticed the way Sybil had addressed him and the warm smile he gave her in return.

"You too – milady."

And with that Sybil turned and made her way towards the first class carriages. Tom held the door whilst Mrs Hughes climbed into the carriage and watched her be enveloped by the steam. She looked back over her shoulder once. Their eyes met briefly and for a fleeting moment it felt to him as if it were just the two of them on the platform, alone.

She might be a lady and his employer's daughter, and therefore way out of his reach, but Tom had never met anyone quite like her. And he would see her again. Something told him that the easy connection that had been established today wasn't going to be wiped out by his chauffeur's uniform. He couldn't help smiling to himself as he pulled himself into the carriage after Mrs Hughes.

Yes – this new job was going to be very interesting indeed.


End file.
